Shortly before my mother died last spring, she made a comment that brought me up short:

“I wish we’d talked about it more,” she said. That was all.

“It” was a defining event in all our lives—the death of my 16-year-old son in a car accident. Concerned about the toll it was taking on her and my dad, my husband and I tried to keep the depths of our pain hidden from them. Even several years after the accident, we didn’t level with them. Our conversations ran along the lines of, “Yeah, it’s really hard, but we’re doing okay.”

That, I see now, was a mistake.

PostedJuly 17, 2016

AuthorJan DeBlieu

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“Service is about mutuality,” said the beautiful, bright-eyed, round-faced woman. “You can’t help anyone else unless you put yourself on their level.”

I’d heard the same sentiment voiced by many people who are in the business of helping others. It’s true, but it’s much easier to say than to do.

What struck me about this woman’s remark was the simple joy with which she said it. She wasn’t lecturing, just stating fact: Everyone knows we’re all the same, broken or whole, homeless or housed. That’s what makes the work so meaningful.

She had reason to know what she was talking about. She was a nun.

PostedJune 18, 2016

AuthorJan DeBlieu

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“Can you help us?”

The elderly woman spoke in a singsong voice so loud that everyone in the bank turned and stared. She wanted to know if the two ancient keys she’d found in a drawer fit her safe deposit box, which she hadn’t opened in—she couldn’t remember how long. Her daughter (in her 50s, I guessed) tried to shush her. No luck on either the shushing or the keys. “I’ll pay to replace them. I can pay!” the woman shouted.

This recent encounter in our small town made me realize something with crystal clarity: There needs to be a national day honoring grown sons and daughters who now care for their elderly parents. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day speak to a different era of our lives. And boy, this one deserves to be marked, too.

Read the rest of this blog in Huffington Post by clicking here.

PostedJune 8, 2016

AuthorJan DeBlieu

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A few months ago one of my big-hearted friends confided to me, “I really want to bring a Syrian family here”—here being the North Carolina Outer Banks, our home.

As it so happened, only two days earlier I’d heard a clergyman voice the same desire.

I deeply honor the sentiment behind this. Yes, let’s share our abundance in an open, loving way. Everyone will benefit, us as well as those we help.

But why would we bring people whose lives have already been ripped wide open to a place where there is no mosque, no Islamic presence, no language spoken but English and a little Spanish, and virtually no ethnic diversity? A place, moreover, where there is a good measure of anti-Islamic sentiment?

These questions have continued to nag at me. So I decided to look into them.

PostedMay 24, 2016

AuthorJan DeBlieu

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What’s in a name, the young man wanted to know. More specifically, what’s so special about the term “Mom” that he should continue to use it for his entire life—since he was now an adult and on equal footing with his mother?

We were having this conversation in the most unlikely of venues. That afternoon I had decided to quit procrastinating and go renew my driver’s license.

PostedMay 5, 2016

AuthorJan DeBlieu

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Just Talk About It

Get Thee to a Nunnery

Parenting Our Parents Day -- Honoring Grown Kids Who Care for Their Moms and Dads

Where Should We Put Them? The Art of Resettling Refugees

The World Within "Mom"

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